Sign of the Times
by clandxstine
Summary: "A Renegade, Quinn Fabray? You couldn't have just fallen in love with a mutant from the Brotherhood, instead?"
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is a short story loosely based on Harry Styles' debut track Sign of the Times. Loved that song, had this idea about X-men!Faberry and I thought, hey, why not? I'm not sure how many chapters this story will be; I reckon three to five chapters.

So here you go! I hope you'll like it. **Reviews are definitely appreciated and are very much encouraging for the writer. :)**

 **A/N:** Bold is Santana, Italics is Quinn.

 **Warning: Mentions of suicide, murder, and (creepy) puppets.**

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these characters unless stated otherwise. They all belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 _ **Just stop your crying, it's a sign of the times**_

 _ **Welcome to the final show**_

 _ **Hope you're wearing your best clothes**_

 _ **You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky**_

 _ **You look pretty good down here**_

 _ **But you ain't really good**_

The first thing she felt when she woke up was warmth. Her eyes felt warm, and it's like she was suddenly incapable of doing that one thing which, somehow, made her special.

It oddly reminded her of the day when she first woke up in the Institution, but she's pretty sure that she wasn't in the same bed for the same reason this time around.

She had been foolish — at least, that's what Santana told her the moment she opened her eyes. She had no idea who Santana was back then. She was a stranger; someone who was, apparently, assigned to make sure that the ice inside her head would thaw and that she'd be back to life before it was too late. She didn't know who Santana was, but Santana was asking her questions as though she knew who _she_ was.

 _ **Why would you waste such gift, blondie?**_

 _ **Freezing your eyes and brain? That's too cliché, right?**_

 _Let me ask you something. If you're a seventeen year old teenager who discovered your ability to freeze everything that you want with your vision by accidentally shooting ice beams at your abusive dad, what would you do? Maybe you would say that you'd be ecstatic because the bastard's finally dead; maybe you would be scared, run away and find a place where you could live peacefully whilst trying to figure out how to keep yourself from accidentally killing someone again. Or maybe you would feel like shit, feel like you're a murderer, and try to punish yourself by doing the same thing to yourself._

And that's what she did. She lied down on her bed, stared long enough at the ceiling to create thorns made of ice, which, she thought, would eventually fall upon her and kill her on the spot.

However, she honestly had no idea how to control her ability just yet, and instead of projecting ice, she ended up freezing the inside of her head. She panicked at first, but then she realized — _hey, that's what I wanted, right?_

So she let it happen, and she was sure that she had died until she woke up in a difference place, in a different bed, with bright lights above her face.

And then, yeah, there was Santana.

She didn't understand why she was being mean that day. She had just recovered from her attempt to end her life — why was Santana not showing sympathy? As she spent more of her life in the Institution, the more she understood why Santana had questioned her in the first place.

Some mutants like her needed less sympathy simply because they didn't _want_ sympathy from other people. It made them feel weak, made them feel small and useless, and they needed that lack of sympathy to build their strength up once again because, sometimes, all you needed was yourself and nothing else to get back on your feet again.

Others were different, of course, but Quinn Fabray figured that she belonged to the former percentage.

Somehow, she found a friend in Santana, the girl whose mutant ability was basically the opposite of hers. Where Quinn would shoot freezing energy from eyes, Santana shot a great amount of heat from hers. They were the perfect match, the perfect pair to send to certain trainings because they were the opposite of each other, and somehow, that made a perfect combination. Quinn didn't exactly know the professors' specific reasons, but she had an idea — it was pretty obvious. She just didn't know how to put them into words.

They simply complement each other.

And then came Brittany S. Pierce into the picture a year later.

Brittany seemed like an ordinary person when Quinn and Santana met her at the Institution for the first time. Nothing seemed out of place. She was chirpy, she was always smiling, and she was almost careless to the problems of the world.

She was … _something_.

And there was a doll always clinging on her back. It had been pretty creepy at first, with the doll's smiling face and its huge eyes. Fucks's sake, it was a replica of Slappy The Dummy — that's fucking creepy. But Brittany always reassured them that Ducky wasn't a killer, at least, if no one was threatening Brittany.

It took quite some time for the pair to get used to Ducky (apparently, Brittany loved ducks so much she decided to name her puppet Ducky), and it was a really hard task because Ducky loved visiting them in their rooms without a prior notice. Ducky would always appear out of nowhere, talk to them like Brittany would, and the pair would always wonder just how the hell the puppet would manage to enter their rooms without passing through the door or the window.

Again. Creepy.

Quinn didn't bother knowing more about Brittany and her fucking puppet; she was in the Institution after all, everyone was bound to have their own . . . quirks _._ Santana didn't give it a rest though.

For some reason, the Latina developed this huge interest in the quirky blonde and her doll — more on the quirky blonde than the doll, obviously — and with her usual feistiness, she questioned all relevant professors about Brittany's ability.

The answer was, apparently, unclear. Brittany seemed to have a part of her DNA imprinted in the puppet. How she did that, the professors weren't sure. It was almost like how Chucky, the serial murderer, was made; only Ducky had no soul. Just . . . Brittany's DNA, and with her DNA in the puppet, she was capable of controlling him, even allowing him to appear and disappear under her command.

Like a ventriloquist, really, save for the whole act of appearing and disappearing because, obviously, ordinary ventriloquists were incapable of doing such trick with their puppets.

So, Brittany became The Ventriloquist, and The Ventriloquist became a pair with Fire Snix (Santana's chosen name; not her official pseudonym, however) and Quinn became…

… well, Quinn. Ice Quinn to some other mutants, but she never acknowledged it.

Quinn didn't really hold it against Santana for sticking to Brittany after being inseparable for a year.

She was in love after all, no matter how hard Santana would always deny it.

Thankfully — though definitely not under a pleasant circumstance — that denial was soon demolished when the Institute was attacked by a small, but strong, group of renegade.

Said attack was basically the reason why Quinn was in that bed, under those really bright lights, again.

The Institute won, apparently, but many students were injured, some almost died, but they were all alive and healing. The students were ready to move on from such an eventful day, but it was obviously something they should never forget. It was a day which would remind them of the reasons behind their rigorous training. They had to be stronger, more knowledgeable of their abilities — it was for their safety.

"Ready to get up?"

Quinn heard Santana by her side, but she remained idle, eyes blinking, soaking all the heat from the light until it was almost unbearable for her.

It was only then that she stood and sat on the bed, eyes trained on the tiled floor.

"Yeah," she replied.

"All right," Santana walked around and gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Wolf Dude wants to meet you later. Said he needs to talk to you about the girl you encountered last night."

"You still call him Wolf Dude?"

"Wolverine is a mouthful. I mean, I wouldn't mind having him in my mo—"

Quinn groaned. "Save it, Santana."

Santana shrugged and waved at Brittany and _fucking_ Ducky (who also waved at them) when she saw them standing by the open door.

"I'm just saying. He looks bi—"

"Heard you finally made it official with Brittany," Quinn said to change the topic.

Santana smirked because, whatever, Quinn had always been a prude and could never take a joke. "Yeah."

"What made you change your mind?"

"Life's too short, Quinn," the Latina said, retreating to the door, hand immediately finding Brittany's, and finally disappearing from the blonde's view.

Santana's words echoed inside her head and she couldn't help but think of the girl she met at the training grounds last night. The things she saw, the things she _felt_ , the things she wished she could forget but were always appearing in her head.

Santana's words seemed wrong.

"Not to all, Santana," Quinn murmured. "Not to all."


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: Mentions of suicide, murder, and (creepy) puppets.**

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these characters unless stated otherwise. They all belong to their respective owners.

 _ **We never learn, we been here before  
Why are we always stuck and running from  
The bullets? The bullets?  
We never learn, we been here before  
Why are we always stuck and running from  
The bullets? The bullets?**_

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

Quinn first knew about them when she was a child, seated on the lap of her father as he read the last book of the Bible's New Testament. Rather than being terrified by what each horsemen symbolized, she was fascinated more than anything else.

 _The white horse; upon it a man sat to conquer with a crown on his head, a symbol of his victor in all his conquest._

Her father told her that the white horse could mean a lot of things. It could mean the successful spread of the gospel; of the words of God upon all men; or it could mean the spread of disease and plague.

Either way, the white horse existed to conquer - _breathed_ to conquer.

 _The red horse; upon it a man sat to cause war among men with a great sword in his strong fist._

 _He took away the peace from earth_ , her father once told her. _He stole it from people and kept it to himself, because he was selfish, and he wanted it all for himself. He wanted none of it shared among the mortals._

 _The black horse; upon it a man sat to cause famine with a pair of scales held in his hand._

Her father told her it represented greed - for the black horseman wanted abundance of oil and wine for the wealthy and scarcity of bread, thus causing suffering for the poor.

Quinn, as she grew older, concluded that the black horse represented injustice.

Oh.

 _The pale horse; upon it a man sat with a scythe in his hand - the personification of Death himself, Hades following behind his back_.

And then there was Death.

Quinn blinked.

" _She has all of them inside her head."_

The woman she fought at the school ground the other night, apparently, had all horsemen inside her head. Did that make her a mutant? Or was she simply a victim of the demons, who walked upon the earth; who enjoyed taking over weak humans to play their sick games?

" _How did you know?"_

" _We have her file."_

Her name was Rachel. No surname; no age; no address; just her ' _mutation_.' It almost seemed funny for Quinn that such information would be open divulged by the woman, herself, but not basic information such as her age or address - at least, the one she had before the craziness of her _true identity_ took over and dragged her away from home.

" _You said that she turned you into a bird and put you in a cage, Quinn. Did it feel real to you?"_

" _Yes."_

It felt real to her - so real that for the first time in a while after discovering her abilities and living in the Institution, she _truly_ felt scared for her life.

She could have avoided the situation if she hadn't faltered after seeing Rachel's face - the coffee hues which seemed to suck her into their depth.

She could have avoided the situation had she not listened to Rachel's _sultry_ invitation to join the Renegades.

But she allowed herself to be distracted, though not distracted enough to say yes to Rachel's invitation; a rejection which had set the smaller woman off.

She was helpless inside the cage; her arms were turned into wings and her mouth - _God_ , her mouth disappeared and was replaced with a beak. A _fucking_ beak and she was robbed of the ability to speak; to scream. Instead, she was squawking so desperately as the cage compressed into her helpless form, ready to squeeze her to death.

She hadn't been ready.

She was a new student.

She was _scared_.

And the only thing she could do to defend herself was _glare_ at the woman standing before her, as if doing so would erase the smug smirk on her face.

She was _desperate_.

So desperate and scared that she lost control and began gathering so much frozen energy in her eyes. It wasn't long before she was shooting spears made out of ice towards her opponent.

Everything happened rather quickly, and _Rachel_ was taken by surprise. The illusion faltered; the wings turned back into arms; the beak turned back into soft, pink lips; and as she screamed with every spear hitting and sinking into her flesh, the cage collapsed into _nothingness_ and they were instantly back at the Institution.

The spears stopped. Quinn's screams stopped. Rachel looked at an unconscious Quinn on the ground through blooded eyes and took note of the layer of ice accumulating over _still_ open eyes.

She'd be dead in a few minutes.

And so Rachel left with her group, figuring that it was best to step back at which point.

Quinn clenched her jaws and closed her eyes at the mere thought of being left behind to die on the ground. Was she really expecting the _enemy_ to bring her somewhere safe?

Was she really _that_ stupid?

She didn't even know why she felt that way.

It was _ridiculous_.

"Hello, Quinn."

Quinn jumped in her place as she cursed loudly whilst turning at the puppet _suddenly_ sat beside her.

"What the fuck, Ducky! I could have fallen!"

Yeah, she could have fallen and she didn't want that, but why was she sitting on the school's roof in the first place?

"Exactly," the puppet said in that creepy voice, looking up at her with its creepy face.

"Stop reading my mind," she grumbled, eyes darting back to an island not so far away from where the Institution was located.

 _Thirty minutes by speed boat - maybe an hour if I decide to use the kayak._

"You're thinking about going to that island. Why?"

Quinn sighed. "I told you not to read my fucking mind, Ducky."

"I can't help it," the puppet scowled ( _fuck,_ Quinn thought. _He's creepy when he does that.)_ "You think too loudly."

"It's none of your business."

"You want to see someone, don't you?"

"Like I said, none of your business."

And then, the puppet's voice shifted. "It is if it means you're putting yourself in danger, Quinn."

Quinn closed her eyes and breathed out heavily through parted mouth. "Hello, Britt."

"It's nice that you're talking to Ducky now. I used to think that you hate Ducky, but I'm glad that it's not the case. He really wants to be your friend, you know? He said that if you accept him as your friend, he'll stop popping out of nowhere when I'm having sexy time with Santana."

"Is that so?" Quinn snorted.

"Yeah," the puppet nodded, then turned its head to look at the direction of the island. "Don't go there."

Quinn was silent for a few seconds, and then it was her turn to look away and get up on her feet. It was time to get back in her room after all.

"I'm not going anywhere."

####

Which turned out to be a lie.

It was nearing sunset when she found herself speeding across the sea in one of the Institution's speedboats. She made sure that no one was aware of her plans - not even professors. They were all busy in a meeting anyway, so Quinn was given time to _borrow_ one of the boats and leave the island for a couple of minutes.

Just thirty minutes, she told herself, but who's to say that she won't stay much longer than that?

####

She shut the engine when she was a few meters away from the seashore, and Quinn felt like there was something wrong.

 _Something_ definitely felt so wrong.

She wasn't sure if it was her sixth senses telling her not to step on the deserted island or something else.

She figured it was best for her curiosity to find out whatever it was.

As she worked to drop the anchor into the water, Quinn frowned and narrowed her eyes at a particular spot just beside the edge of the boat.

She waited for the water to still and as soon as she got a perfect view of what (or who) was underneath the boat, _in the fucking water_ , Quinn did not hesitate as she jumped into the water and swam as quickly as she could to grab the seemingly lifeless figure from the seabed.

"Rachel!" She called as soon as she managed to drag the body to the sand. She was pale, but not cold.

She was alive.

Quinn didn't know shit about CPR, and hell, she was scared of attempting CPR in case she'd end up doing something wrong.

"Fuck, how the _fuck_ am I supposed to—"

Quinn was interrupted by the sound of water spluttering out of Rachel's mouth, and she was quick to cradle the woman's body in her arms, one hand patting Rachel's back.

"You're okay," Quinn said. "You're alive."

"Of course, I am," Rachel whispered roughly as she pushed away from Quinn.

Quinn thought that Rachel would, at least, look relieved to be alive, but it seemed to be the other way around.

She looked angry and disappointed.

 _Why?_

"… What happened?" Quinn asked softly whilst gathering her knees to her chest, arms wrapped around them.

"I tried," Rachel started, eyes somber and hands limp on the sand. "I always try and I _never_ succeed."

Quinn frowned. "What do you mean?"

"They don't let me die. They _won't_ let me die."

"…They?"

Rachel chuckled wryly as she lifted to point at her temple.

"Them," she said. "Do you know what they're saying to me right now?"

Quinn swallowed thickly and shook her head.

"That I'm stupid enough to think that they'd let me die; that I'm still useful to them; that they need me as their vessel; that no matter how much I try, I will never die."

Rachel turned to Quinn, her gaze holding an odd look of longing in them.

"You could have killed me with your spears," she chuckled sardonically. "But they healed me, because they're not yet done with me, Quinn."

They were silent after Rachel's sharing, mostly because Quinn had no idea what to say and she was busy thinking about the reason as to why she was even sitting on the sand, next to the woman who nearly killed her the other day, in the first place.

The sun had set completely when Rachel finally broke the silence.

"You should go home, Quinn."

"Where is home?"

"Go back to your school. It's your home now."

"Can I ask you something?"

Rachel quirked an eyebrow. "You already did."

Quinn actually managed to smile a little. "Why do you look at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like… like you know me; like you've met me before we met the other day when you… when your group attacked ours."

Rachel looked at her for a minute or two, before shaking her head whilst standing back up on her feet.

"Go home, Quinn."

"Rachel, wait-"

Her phone, which had been inside her pocket the whole time, vibrated in her pocket and she cursed as she pulled it out to see a message from Santana.

 _Get your ass back here. Wolf Dude saw footages of you leaving the island. Forgot that there are lots of cameras here?_

Quinn sighed heavily and looked up to bid Rachel farewell.

She was gone.


End file.
